


Solitude Eternal

by LittleMissCactus



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Angst, Ficlet, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt No Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:47:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27784738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMissCactus/pseuds/LittleMissCactus
Summary: After his battle with Huan, Mairon flees to Taur-nu-Fuin to lick his wounds and mourn the loss of the closest thing he had to a friend.
Relationships: Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor/Sauron | Mairon (mentioned), Sauron | Mairon & Thuringwethil
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	Solitude Eternal

Finally, he was alone.

Mairon collapsed against a willow tree and groaned in pain as he took in the extent of his wounds. He couldn't possibly heal this all on his own, but he could at least start. He closed his eyes and began to sing, grimacing as he felt his flesh begin to weave itself back together onto one piece.

_Melkor would be able to heal me fully..._

Mairon pushed the thought from his mind. Melkor wasn't... wasn't safe to approach yet. _Or at all._ Melkor was unreasonable, Melkor had forgotten the origin of their cause, and all Melkor cared about was blood. He would surely punish Mairon without listening to reason. Especially after such a humiliating loss. He would be livid, and even Mairon with his silver tongue could not talk his way out of this. He'd have to face his lord eventually, but for now, Mairon didn't want to think about that. It was too painful to remember that his lord no longer cared about him. But that did not matter now. For now, Mairon was alone.

Truly alone. His herald gone.

Mairon snarled as he forced back tears. He had already been humiliated today. Allowing himself to cry would be unbearable. He thumbed over the jaw marks on his arms roughly, allowing the pain to wash over him and distract him. Anything was easier than thinking about what had happened. What he had lost.

“ _Thuringwethil..._ ” he breathed, her name coming to his lips no matter how strongly he tried to suppress it. No matter how painful it was to remember. The forest seemed to shiver with the mere utterance of her name, and Mairon finally began to weep.

*** ***

“Lieutenant! Is Draugluin alright?!”

Mairon didn't respond, his gaze fixed on the dead Werewolf before him. “You will be avenged, Draugluin,” he murmured, touching his matted fur before turning to face Thuringwethil. “Are you prepared for battle?”

“Always, my lord.” Thuringwethil hesitated. “But Lieutenant, the hound has killed everything that we have sent to him. If even Draugluin could not slay him, what possibly could?”

“I will.” Mairon's eyes flashed dangerously as he rose to his full height. “I will make this hound of Valinor wish that it were never born.”

Thuringwethil's eyes widened briefly and she lowered her head. “As you wish, my lord. Shall I prepare your armour?”

“No,” Mairon growled, “I want to taste his blood.”

“My lord?”

Thuringwethil stepped back and her mouth gaped as Mairon began to transform into a great wolf, larger and fiercer than anything Thuringwethil had ever seen. If this wolf could not slay Huan, nothing could.

“Thuringwethil, would you be my herald?”

Thuringwethil smiled and shifted herself into a bat obediently. “It would be my honour, Lieutenant.”

*** ***

It was his fault. Mairon's mind raced with a thousand ways that he could have planned better, that he could have found a better strategy, _anything_. There _must_ have been a way that he could have won that battle. That Thuringwethil wouldn't have had to die. If only he hadn't been so blinded by rage at Draugluin's death, perhaps he could have fought better and won. He _should_ have won. Melkor would be right to punish him for being too foolish to think clearly and find a better way.

Mairon rose to his feet, wavering slightly from blood loss, and his eyes narrowed. He would make sure that Thuringwethil would not be forgotten. No, every being in Arda would scream in terror at the very mention of her name, at every bat that they see in the sky in case it is her. Thuringwethil would be avenged.


End file.
